Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 92734 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92734 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
“You directly disobeyed an order.”
“It was a shitty order.” Ricky’s blue eyes, the one thing all the members of their family shared, glittered in hate. “Bringing in more girls is good for business.”
It didn’t matter if it was or not. That wasn’t the point. The point was his dumb-ass brother was putting himself and everyone around him in danger. And no matter how potentially profitable it was, they were out of the fucking slave trade—for good. “Except it’s not. If you bothered to do some fucking research before you charged blindly ahead, you’d know that business is up since I disbanded the flesh trade.”
Ricky spit again. “Your stomach’s just too weak for what needs to be done.”
That wasn’t his problem and they both knew it. “What else have you been doing?”
“Nothing.”
Damn it, he should have played this better. James crossed his arms over his chest, hating how his brother flinched at the sudden movement. He’d tried with Ricky. He’d tried reasoning with him. He’d tried restricting him. He’d even gone so far as to take a page out of their father’s book and beat the shit out of him. Nothing worked. If there was some magical way to get through to his brother, he sure as hell didn’t know what it was. Hitting Ricky might feel satisfying in the moment, but it wouldn’t change anything—anything except pushing James closer to monster territory. “You’ll stay down here until I figure out what to do with you.”
Ricky’s head snapped up. “What the fuck?”
“You heard me.” He turned, giving his brother the insult of his back. “And if I hear about you taking a woman without permission again, I’ll kill you myself.” He walked out of the room to Ricky’s cursing and locked the door behind him. James passed the key to Michael. “He gets a meal a day. That’s it.”
“Sure thing.” Michael slipped the key into his pocket. “How long you going to keep him down here?”
“As long as it takes.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Carrigan chose her clothing with care. She always did—too much of her life depended on other people’s perceptions of her—but tonight was especially important. Tonight she was going out with the poorly named Chauncy Chauncer. Short of a miracle, she didn’t expect to see him again, but she still had an image to uphold.
An image she despised.
She grabbed a long dress from the back of her closet. It was—naturally—white, and the only thing daring about it was the square neckline that allowed a little cleavage. The rest of it would cover her from wrists to ankles—a straitjacket of her own choosing. She kept her makeup light, and styled her hair in careful waves.
Stepping back from the vanity, she sighed. “I look like a virgin sacrifice.” The first part was laughable. The latter was all too accurate.
She stopped in front of her dresser, her hand going to the drawer where she’d stashed James’s album. She hadn’t touched it since she got back into Boston. After running into him, and then talking to him… and then letting him command her into an orgasm over the phone, it felt like a betrayal to dig through his personal property.
Besides, she’d already practically memorized its contents.
There was only one person the blond woman in the old photos could be—the three boys of varying ages she always had her arms around only confirmed it. James’s mother. Carrigan didn’t know much about her beyond that she was dead and had been for years, but the way the woman looked at her sons… there was love there. A whole hell of a lot.
And she’d taken the reminder of that love from him.
She should give it back. It was the right thing to do. But if she did, there was no guarantee that he wouldn’t live up to his word and leave her alone. That, she didn’t want. Maybe I’ll just hang on to it for a few more days. It’s safe enough here. I’ll give it back. Eventually.
Satisfied, she glanced at the clock on the nightstand and confirmed that she was almost late. There was nothing left to do that she could pretend wasn’t stalling. Damn it. She slipped on her heels and headed downstairs. As expected, her father waited at the front door. He took her appearance in with a single sweep of his gaze. “Excellent.” He gifted her with one of his rare smiles.
That smile used to be something she strove for. When she was a kid, she’d lived for her father’s approval. She’d bent over backward with piano lessons and good grades and anything that she thought would impress him to get that smile. Now? Now she saw it for what it was—his approval of having a possession polished up to show off for a peer. He didn’t see her as a real person. He never had. If she’d been a son…